


blue october

by punktaekai (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Series: TaeKai Alternate Universes [20]
Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - No Band, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Choose Your Own Ending, Drug Addict Lee Taemin, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Music, Kim Jongin | Kai has Trust Issues, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Smut, Non-Linear Narrative, Overdosing, Police, Recovery, Relapsing, Song: Hate Me (Blue October), Stockholm Syndrome, Support Group(s), Supportive Kim Jongin | Kai, Supportive SHINee, Supportive SuperM, Trust, Trust Issues, Underage Drinking, based on a Blue October song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/punktaekai
Summary: Everything was perfect until Taemin broke his wrist, Jongin muses. That’s where everything went fucking wrong when Taemin became addicted to his painkillers. He snorts thinking back on it, staring at the ceiling, as he wonders where Taemin is, if he’s fucking someone else for his next hit, or if he’s even alive.or: taemin is a drug addict and jongin refuses to give up on him
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin
Series: TaeKai Alternate Universes [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521983
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	blue october

**Author's Note:**

> uh a note all the "underage drinking" is done by 18/19 year olds but South Korea's drinking age is 20 so,,, yaH
> 
> the abuse is not intentional abuse !!! it all comes from hallucinations and not entirely realising the reality of the room (aka Character A thinks Character B is actually Character C and is immediately regretful upon realising it is B) but still want to tag that  
> Mental health issues and stockholm syndrome are tagged for _discussions_ of it but there is no actual form of it in this fic other than addiction !!!! 
> 
> **Prompt:** [Hate Me - Blue October](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDxgSvJINlU)  
> 

Everything was perfect until Taemin broke his wrist, Jongin muses. That’s where everything went fucking _wrong_ when Taemin became addicted to his painkillers. He snorts thinking back on it, staring at the ceiling, as he wonders where Taemin is, if he’s fucking someone else for his next hit, or if he’s even alive.

He tries to calculate how many nights he’s spent like this, staring at the patterned design on their ceiling, just praying that Taemin will come home, no matter how out of his mind, strung up or even aggressive he is. Jongin can handle that; he can handle the fights and vase throwing because Taemin can’t find his stash when he’s desperate. What he can’t handle is wondering if Taemin is lying somewhere, the police trying to investigate what’s going on, and no one has his number because Tae _never_ takes his phone and no one would know how to contact him. He’s considered writing his number on Taemin’s arm or leg before but with the company he keeps, Taemin, sober in the morning, had said it would only endanger Jongin and he’d scrub it off if Jongin tried. 

Heck, Jongin can take the idea of Taemin out on the streets, fucking and screwing his way to his next high because he knows that isn’t Taemin. He knows it's the addiction that planted its seeds in his brain and spread, infecting every inch of his cerebral processing. He can take that, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care when some random men ring him up telling him they have his boyfriend here in their bed. He doesn’t give a _fuck_ as long as he picks up Taemin or Taemin stumbles through their apartment door in the morning or afternoon.

Jongin purses his lips; it’s definitely been over one hundred nights like this. The exact number, he can’t figure out, but he lays staring at the ceiling so many nights that Jongin fucking _hates_ his ceiling pattern. 

Jongin rolls over and stares at the empty space next to him. He reaches out, running his fingers over the cold sheets, heart aching; usually, before all of this, Taemin would be curled up on his side, turned towards Jongin; Jongin would lay in silence, watching him sleep, wondering how lucky he got to be. His hair would be some bright beautiful colour, always somehow glowing in the pitch black of their room. His face would be serene, all stress gone from around his eyes, looking ten years younger. His fingers close on Taemin’s pillow and drags it close, hugging it tight to his chest. The fabric is so cool, not warmed like it usually would be by Taemin’s body heat. Even the scent of Taemin’s shampoo is weak, barely there and it’s a knife right into Jongin’s carotid. He knows Taemin is struggling and needs help, he knows this isn’t really his fault but _god_ could he _at least_ have Taemin’s vague scent to help him drift off? Did the addiction even have to take away the soft mango scent that Jongin loves burying his face in, inhaling it till it’s all he can smell for hours?

Jongin’s face contorts, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks and he tosses the offending object across the room. He buries his face in his own pillow, letting the bitter scent of his own vague coconut shampoo lull him to sleep.

\--xx--

The sound of the front door slamming against the wall as it opens wakes Jongin. He rolls over to stare at the clock. It’s twenty past ten - well, twenty-seven minutes past ten - and Jongin sighs. He wonders what the situation is this time; did Taemin actually get drunk with his friends or did he sneak off and get high again?

He listens at the hubbub of people talking and the all too familiar sound of Taemin being half-dragged across the floor. He forces himself to get out of bed and grabs his dressing gown where it’s hanging on the back of the door and shuffles into the kitchen. 

Minho is trying to force water into Taemin’s mouth; Taemin himself keeps jerking his head away, mumbing something about _fucking…. Bastard… kill.. Fuck you_ under his breath in return. Jongin’s shoulders slump slightly. He quickly pulls his dressing gown on, tying it quickly and steps forward. He rests his hand on Minho’s shoulder, taking the bottle from him. “I’ve got him. You guys go home.”

“Man, I have no idea how much he drank last night, but he’s _out_ of it.”

Jongin forces a chuckle, wrapping Taemin’s arm around his shoulder so that Kibum can step away, cracking his neck. “Yeah, Tae… leave him alone for one minute, and he’s so drunk he thinks he’s living on Mars.” It kills him to lie, so outwardly; he can see the tiny blood spots on Taemin’s arm; he’s been shooting god knows what up, but it’s not his place to tell his friends what’s going on. 

If he tells them, they’ll crack down, force Taemin into a corner and Jongin’s already done that four other times. Their first fight about _Taemin you need fucking help_ had resulted in Jongin sporting black eye and a broken nose. Taemin didn’t come home for an entire month and it was the most nerve-wracking month of Jongin’s life.

It doesn’t help Taemin, only pushes him further away; the only winner is his addiction, gaining more control of Taemin and isolating him even more.

As he deposits Taemin at the kitchen table, promptly watching him fall forward with a groan, smacking his head off the table, he notices Jonghyun. Jonghyun’s face, usually full of joy and relaxation after a night out, is withdrawn. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips in a deep frown and Jongin can see he’s staring at the tiny blood stains on Taemin’s jacket. Jongin steps between Taemin’s arm, doing his best to reach over to make it look like he’s just trying to grab some fruit from the bowl on the table.

“Thanks for bringing him home, guys, I’ve got this from here.”

They all throw byes over their shoulders. Jonghyun lingers for a moment, staring at Jongin. It looks like he’s about to ask and Jongin’s stomach churns, but he follows the rest of the boys back out of the apartment. 

It’s only once the door has thudded shut that Jongin sighs and slowly sinks down to sit next to Taemin. He gently strokes through his hair, wincing slightly as Taemin smacks his hand away. “Are you high or coming down?”

“Down.”

Jongin nods and stares at the table. “You need to drink, you’re going to be dehydrated, Tae.”

“Don’t want to.”

Jongin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Drink or I’m flushing your stash.”

When he opens his eyes, Taemin is upright, back rigid against the chair as he stares at Jongin. It’s not the Taemin he knows; the look on his face is unreadable other than anger and betrayal. Jongin swallows slowly. Jongin feels like Taemin is a predator staring him down, calculating the chances of a kill. 

Taemin doesn’t move for a moment before he snatches the water bottle off Jongin, slumping in the chair as he starts on it.

Jongin takes the moment to really look at Taemin; he hasn’t had a chance to monitor him recently. He’s lost more weight, his eyes starting to look sunken. There’s patches of his hair missing, small bald spots along his scalp becoming noticeable. His brain decides now is the time to remind him of when he first met Taemin, comparing _his_ Taemin and the Taemin sitting in front of him.

Jongin’s pretty sure he feels his heart shatter. 

* * *

Jongin laughs in the car as Sehun drives, the top down to his dad’s convertible. Chanyeol and Baekhyun are in the back, screaming along to whatever song is on the radio and Jongin doesn’t know how they hear it over the rushing wind. Whatever floats their boat, he supposes as he relaxes under the summer sun. He doesn’t know why Sehun dragged him out on this outing - well, he knows why, Sehun’s crush on him over the years has been obvious but he’s always made it clear he’s not into Sehun that way. Sehun still tries though, still tries to woo Jongin with amazing trips and a convertible and all that. 

Jongin stares as they turn down a road towards an old abandoned building and Jongin drops his sunglasses further down his nose to stare. “Hey, isn’t this the way to that old school that’s supposedly haunted? Remember the one we used to tell ghost stories about in high school?”

“Yeah, Kibum said we were meeting here.”

“And how do we know this Kibum again?”

Baekhyun leans forward. “Kibum-ssi is a senior in my fashion design course. He took me under his wing and helped me out. His friends were meeting up and he invited us with him.”

Sehun chuckles. “Well, he invited _Baekhyun_ and then I saw how hot his friend was and I demanded we were all going.”

Baekhyun swats at Sehun but chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Okay, so Sehun’s insatiable desire to get dicked during summer may lead to us being murdered in some school, possibly infested with ghosts, and we likely won’t be discovered for ages as no one comes down here because everyone is terrified of it?”

Baekhyun purses his lips for a moment. “Yeah, pretty much the sum of it.”

Jongin rolls his eyes and leans forward to turn the radio down as they draw closer. “I promise you if I get murdered here, I’m going to find a way to haunt other ghosts.”

They all burst into laughter and Sehun pulls into one of the parking spaces. Jongin raises his eyebrow as he stares at Sehun. “Seriously? You break the speed limit and can’t park within the lines at college but at this place, you park nice and neatly?”

Sehun turns the engine off and hops over his door, chuckling. “Hey, if there’s ghosts here I don’t want them to think I’m a jackass.”

Jongin rolls his eyes, rolling them a second time when he realises he’s the only one of the four to actually _open the door_ of the damn car to get out and kicks the ground. He’s a bit apprehensive as he follows Baekhyun into the building, wincing as he sees numerous parts of the floor that are obviously a death trap to fall through. “Is this safe?”

“Stop being such a fussy body. So what, you fall through the floor, cut your leg open, get a killer scar and woo hot nerds that you were out hunting ghosts and a ghost pulled you through the floor.” Baekhyun grins over his shoulder. “Cooie!! Kibum-shi!!!”

“Second floor, bio classroom!”

“Ah, sorry Kibum-hyung, I’m allergic to biology, did I ever tell you I got less than the lowest grade in biology?!”

“Get your ass up here!”

“Is Minho up there?” Sehun pauses on the first step.

“Hi? Who’s calling for me?”

Sehun shoots up the stairs, disappearing around the corner onto the second flight before Jongin has even comprehended the sound of Minho’s voice. “He’s going to get himself murdered for dick one day.”

Baekhyun and Chanyeol snort as they start up the stairs. Jongin gingerly follows them, monitoring each step he makes to ensure he’s not about to go shooting through to the fucking centre of the earth or something. He manages to get to the second floor, following Baekhyun’s annoying sing-song voice before he manages to stumble into the biology classroom. 

There’s five other men he doesn’t know, lounging around on tables, beers in hand. Jongin looks between them and raises an eyebrow. Kibum is obvious; he wears a simple beige beret, has roughed cheeks and a long black coat down to his ankles, revealing only some black skinny jeans and a pair of brown walking boots. He screams fashion design student and the way Baekhyun flutters his eyes at him and calls him _shi_ is the other obvious give away. He assumes the man Sehun is almost in the lap of, in a simple grey shirt, baseball cap and skinny jeans is Minho. 

He stares at the other three. Pink hair, yellow and striped sleeve shirt, dungarees, skinny jeans. Black sequined shirt, denim jacket and jeans - isn’t double denim a fashion crime or something nowadays? 

Jongin is distracted by the fifth man, obviously the youngest of the ones grouped together. His longer hair is bleached white with a purple wash. He wears a simple baggy grey v-neck and - yet more - black skinnies. Jongin wonders for a moment if this group are all old emos or something with the amount of skinny jeans but then he wonders if purple-hair is gay. Or bi. Or in any position whatsoever to fuck him.

He swallows and hops onto one of the desks, taking a beer from the pink haired one with a shy smile.

Baekhyun hops back. “Okay! This is Chanyeol, my boyfriend - told you Kibum-ssi I wasn’t faking him! And then we have Sehun who is trying to suck off Minho’s face and his soul out of his dick and the shy one over there is Jongin who’s convinced you lot are going to murder him. Guys, this is Kibum and Minho, pink hair is Jonghyun, the one who looks like a dad trying to fit in with his emo kids is Jinki and that’s Taemin leant against the window already looking like he wants to throw me _out_ of said window.”

Jongin snorts. “I’ll join Taemin on that.”

“I’m sure you’d like to join Taemin on other things. Like a bed.” Sehun tilts his head back from his awkward sitting position, grinning at Jongin like a cat.

“Minho, do me a favour, slap Sehun for me, he’s too far away for me to do it.”

Jongin did not expect Minho to actually give Sehun a soft slap around the head, causing all of them to burst into laughter.

“So why an abandoned school where the entire building could just collapse on us if we touch the walls?” Jongin tilts his head at Kibum, popping his beer open. 

“No one comes here, and Taemin here can’t actually drink yet. Poor baby’s only nineteen-”

Kibum shrieks as an empty beer can flies over his head as Taemin snorts. 

“Well, he cannot legally drink just yet but it's also just easier here because there are no cops patrolling nearby who are gonna arrest us for loitering and it's just quiet here so we don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone.”

“What if someone calls the cops because they notice us trespassing?”

“Then Minho flutters his eyelashes at his dad or they just don’t come because half of them are shit scared of this place.”

“Minho’s dad is a cop?”

Minho snorts. “Yeah. So I know all the ways to murder you and get away with it till you turn into a cold case.”

Taemin swats at Minho, raising an eyebrow. “Leave him alone, he’s anxious. I would be too considering you dragged a nineteen year old out here to some abandoned building to get drunk with.”

Minho opens his mouth but shrugs. “Yeah, I have no retort to that, that’s pretty fair.”

Chanyeol leans forward. “So why is said nineteen year old here with a bunch of guys who can legally drink if he’d be so anxious?”

“Because Kibum busted his mom’s car and he’s bribing me with beer to not tell her.”

They all burst into laughter before falling into general conversation.

Jongin sits by himself, enjoying the ice cold beer - he’s not sure how they managed to keep it so cold - before he jumps. Taemin seems to just appear next to him, leaning against the table. “So, I’m guessing you got dragged into this as well?”

“Well, from what I can make of this, Baekhyun got invited by Kibum to come and hang out with you guys, and Sehun overheard him telling Chanyeol. Sehun heard beer and potential dick so I assume he threatened Baekhyun until Baek brought him as well, and Sehun… held me in a chokehold and dragged me into his car?” Jongin chuckles and stares at the can in his hand. “Nah, I assume Sehun dragged me along so he’d have someone to talk to but I think judging from Minho’s hand resting in the jeans pocket of Sehun’s ass, he doesn’t need me.”

Taemin chuckles and pulls out a chair, sitting so he’s facing Jongin. “Yeah, sort of same I guess. These four have known each other for forever and Jonghyun saw me skulking around in class and dragged me to meet these guys because he felt sorry for me or something, and now I just sort of skulk around them instead of the classroom like some adopted pet cryptid.” 

Jongin chuckles and nods a little. “That’s sort of how I met these guys. Well. Baekhyun wasn’t as nice as Jong… nam?”

“Jonghyun.”

Jongin flushes a little, laughing nervously. “My bad. No, so Sehun is in my dance class, and he had this raging crush on me and he knew Baekhyun and Chanyeol from the local gay club so they had this running bet on if I was gay or not. Cue Baekhyun and Chanyeol taking turns on grinding on me every time I went there to dance, until they adopted me as their ‘baby gay’.”

Taemin snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like Baekhyun.”

“You know Baek?”

“He’s always at Kibum’s apartment batting his eyelashes and throwing his hips around. If he wasn’t dating Chanyeol I’d be sure they were fucking or something.”

“Baek’s poly, so yeah, they’re probably fucking.”

Taemin chokes on the mouthful of beer he was in the process of swallowing, whipping around to see how Baekhyun is nestled on Kibum’s lap, his head resting against Chanyeol’s chest. He turns to face Jongin, shrugging. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

* * *

Jongin can’t stop the tears as he goes through the bathroom. He needed to destress as Taemin slept off his latest high, and had gone driving for hours. He’d ended up pausing for gas and noticing a store across the way he hadn’t seen before and decided to go in and walk around. Window shop, more, as their bank account was dropping so quickly. It was some storage store, numerous boxes, shelving units, the kind of stuff you’d mainly use for reorganising. The mess that was known as their bathroom cabinet, that exploded every time Jongin tried to find his razor or cologne, came to his mind.

Half an hour later, he’s sat in a mess of shelving units that let him ‘make the most use of vertical space’ and tubs and was pulling everything out before he’d come across Taemin’s hair dye. He couldn’t stop the tears as he held the green hair dye in his hand, staring at the multitude of bleach, soft browns, purples, blues, pinks, oranges, and every other colour under the fucking sun. 

He doesn’t remember the last time Taemin dyed his hair. 

He’d taken so much pride in it, his hair colour and style as much of his identity and personality as his dancing, or his passion for helping others. It usually ended up with Taemin sitting in the bath, shrieking with laughter as Jongin turned the shower on to wash dye out, forgetting it takes a few minutes to warm up, dowsing Taemin with a jet spray of ice cold water. It usually ended with Jongin giving up to Taemin’s relentless _pouting_ and letting him add a few streaks of purple to his black hair that no one ever noticed unless the light hits it in the right way.

Jongin covers his mouth to muffle his sobs and dares to shuffle down the hallway to stare into the bedroom. Taemin’s hair is like straw and lifeless. It still has touches of greens at the tips but it’s been taken over by the natural black he usually has and usually only wears for important things - like the time he went to a city wide dance competition to make his white outfit pop more, or when he went for a job interview. The black for jobs never stays, Taemin always ends up bleaching his hair to a darker brown and then to a lighter brown to a natural enough looking dark red before he has some bleach blond mohawk with purple tips. 

Jongin usually loves Taemin’s black hair. It usually looks stunning, like a waterfall diluted by the black sand it carries; rare to see but undeniably beautiful. 

This hair looks like strings of melted wax and tar. 

Jongin returns to the bathroom, making quick work of throwing out expired products and stuff they don’t use. He makes sure to put Taemin’s hair dye front and center.

When he opens the cupboard to find his knee brace the next day, the faces on the boxes of hair dyes stare at him from the trash can.

* * *

“So what do you study?”

Taemin has to yell by Jongin’s ear to be heard over the club’s music.

“Dance! You?”

“NICE. Dance too!”

They’re in some club that Minho had gotten Jongin, Taemin and Sehun into - apparently the club has a history of serving people under 20 and is in deep shit with the police for it. Apparently, Minho has ample way to make them serve _more_ nineteen year olds by threatening to call the cops about the minor issue. Weird cycle, Jongin remembers thinking. Jonghyun and Chanyeol aren’t drinking though, and are keeping an eye on the three of them - or trying to keep an eye on Sehun as he tears through the club enjoying his first night out. Taemin and Jongin are being good, staying in the booth they acquired, sitting in sight and only drinking what’s given to them by Jonghyun or Kibum. 

Jongin doesn’t really remember why they’re there; something about Sehun being nineteen and it's his birthday or something, and Jinki finished some big important graduation thing. No, Jinki _graduated_ and is going to start his PhD and it’s Sehun’s birthday. He stares at the drink in his hand, something Russian. He doesn't remember the name of this particular mix but there’s a _lot_ of vodka in it. He tilts his head, resting against Taemin’s shoulder. Taemin rests his own head on top of Jongin’s. For a moment, it’s like the music in the club fades and can’t be heard but then Taemin jolts, stands, and rushes off. 

Chanyeol immediately takes chase after him and Jonghyun stares at them before focusing on Jongin. “Are you going to be sick too?”

Jongin shakes his head before immediately jumping to his feet. His stomach lurches, twisting and constricting and he nods. Jonghyun laughs as he gets up, navigating Jongin to the toilet with a strong hand on his arm. He’s led into a cubicle and Jonghyun leaves him be. “I’m not holding your hair back, you can do that bit yourself.”

Jongin is confused before the first retch comes and he grabs his hair. Somewhere to his left he hears Taemin groaning. “I’m going to kill Minho. Was he mixing our alcohol?”

“Probably, you know Ming likes to fuck with you like that.”

“Mixing alcohol?”

Taemin groans and Jongin jumps as there’s a loud thud next to him; Taemin apparently leant too heavily on the cubicle wall. “When you get drunk you wanna stick to one alcohol type or it just mixes in your stomach and it’s twenty times worse.”

Jongin groans. “I thought you said Jonghyun would look after us.”

“I said Jonghyun would, I never said Minho would.”

Jongin groans and yelps before he finally starts being ill. From the corner of his eye, he sees a hand appear under the cubicle wall and stares at it. He has no idea why there’s a disembodied hand waggling it’s fingers at him,but he reaches forward and takes it. He realises when the fingers curl around the back of his hand, from the flaking purple nail varnish, its _Taemin’s_ hand, not some hand cut off and left there. 

Vodka. Jongin makes the mental note to never touch it again. 

* * *

Jongin is half way through his undergraduate dissertation when he hears the sound of smashing from the kitchen and Taemin’s half-garbled scream. He gets up from the couch and peers in. A mug catches his cheek and he curses, hand coming up to hold his aching cheek in shock. Taemin freezes where he’s stood, looking over his shoulder. 

Jongin can see the battle on his face, his addiction begging for a new hit and Taemin, _his_ Taemin shining through. When he does eventually speak, his voice is hoarse, almost silent. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… didn’t know you were there.”

“I know, I know.” Jongin hesitantly steps into the room. He looks around, wincing at the mess; there’s broken plates, chipped mugs and a bottle of vodka littering the floor. Jongin raises his gaze and walks over, resting his hands on Taemin’s shoulders. He doesn’t fight Jongin and Jongin gently pushes him to sit down. “What are you looking for?”

“Where’s my pills? I had them in the mugs.”

Jongin wants to _scream_ . He wants to slap Taemin round the face, shake him until he sees some sense. He wants to be the one throwing the mugs, throwing a fit because he can’t find something - because he can’t find his fucking _boyfriend_ in the shell sat in front of him. He steps forward, hand clenching in his pocket.

“I moved them because Minseok always uses the fancy mugs when he comes round to make me some new recipe ideas for his cafe. They’re under the sink, behind the window cleaner.”

Taemin nods and at least has the grace to wait for Jongin to leave the room before he hears clattering as everything gets pulled out. 

Jongin leans against the wall, breathing through his anger. He has to remind himself this isn’t Taemin’s fault. At least Taemin is _here_ and not in some abandoned house sharing some filthy mattress with eight other people. Taemin trusts him and that’s good; Taemin has respect for Jongin still and that’s _good_. 

When Jongin heads to Minseok’s cafe the next day, and Minseok immediately whisks him upstairs to his apartment, cupping Jongin’s cheek and demanding to know what happened, Jongin just smiles. He just says he slammed the cupboard door so hard it bounced back and the handle caught him in the face.

He’s not entirely sure if Minseok believes him, but he stops pushing and Jongin has an internal sigh of relief.

* * *

Taemin still respects Jongin. He’s put so much trust in Jongin. He knows at any second that Jongin could report him and he’d be arrested or just send Taemin off to rehab facility, and that’d be it. Jongin could get up and just leave. But he doesn’t.

So when Taemin shifts in bed - one of the few nights he’s home and _sober_ \- and starts kissing gently down his neck, Jongin isn’t sure what to do. 

On one hand, god, _yes_ he wants to make love to his boyfriend. God knows, they haven’t for so long and it’s a part of Taemin that he misses. He misses the way Taemin will pin him down, utterly break him, make him scream from pleasure until his throat is raw, and then spend hours kissing over every inch of him, whispering sweet nothings until they fall asleep.

But he knows that Taemin has slept with at least eighteen other men - and he doesn’t want to know how many others - fellow addicts who probably don’t care too much for condoms or anything of that area. 

Jongin shifts a little. “Get a condom.”

“We don’t have any.”

“Then get a STI test and get back to me.”

Taemin is silent, unmoving for a moment before he lays down. Jongin holds his breath but Taemin merely wraps his arm around Jongin and holds him tight as they fall asleep together for the first time in god knows how long.

* * *

Their first time isn’t as glamorous as Jongin would have liked, if he’s honest. Buzzing from a few beers, they’d snuck out of the school away from the others to get some air, walk around a little and clear their minds. They’d been relaxing under the large camphor tree by the parking lot, laughing. They were in the middle of placing a bet on whether Sehun and Minho were going to actually fuck and date, end up fuck buddies or whether Minho was just going to blue ball Sehun and shack up with someone else when Taemin put his hand on Jongin’s cheek. He’d frozen, mid laugh as Taemin tilted his head and leaned in. Jongin had hesitated a moment, a mere split second before he leaned in, closing the distance between them. They stayed that way for a while before Taemin gently pulled Jongin into his lap, groping his ass as the kiss became more of a make out session than a gentle first kiss.

Half an hour later, they stumble out of Sehun’s convertible, Jongin’s hair a mess and a major leg cramp from the position, trying not to giggle as they return to the group, trying not to be obvious. 

They got away with it, too, until Baekhyun asked who was reeking of cum and bad decisions.

* * *

Jongin knows Taemin is truly gone, at this moment. The trashed bedroom he’s looking at isn’t something new. It happens maybe once a month when Taemin is trying to find what he stashed when he was too high to remember where he put them. It happens, Jongin cleans it up, and life goes on.

But he’s standing, staring at the shoe box, holding Taemin’s first serious pair of dancing shoes. One shoe has been flung out the box, the other alone in it. The box is dented, one of the corners ripped half open. 

Jongin gently kneels down, picking up the shoe half buried under a pile of clothes. 

There’s nothing really special about these shoes. They were a thirty buck thrift store buy of a pair of Reeboks, entirely white. Only the back of the heel has a bit of colour, a darker brown piece of rubber that Taemin used as a stopper, to drag on the floor discreetly to stop a spin so he could use his other foot to move onto the next dance move. He’d always wanted a pair but the selling price was easily more than their monthly grocery shop - it was a rare designer line pair. 

Taemin was preparing for his first serious competition, having Kibum help him create his entire outfit; stark white with hints of brown that when he moved gave optical illusions and made his performance more cinematic than a performance. Jongin had insisted they go into the thrift store to find some new pots and pans because the ones Jongin had brought with him from college were falling apart from many abuses of boiling alcohol and god knows what during frat parties. 

Taemin had gotten bored and wandered off, only to terrify Jongin when he heard Taemin shriek halfway across the store. Jongin had sprinted, almost falling over as his shoes skidded on the tiles to find Taemin holding the pair in his hands, eyes wide. Jongin had snorted and held the basket out, but the smile on his face told Taemin he was as happy as Taemin was to find them.

Taemin had worn them down to the very soles, had them resoled three times before he finally retired them. He’d even bought a fancy shoe box to store them in, and they were one of Taemin’s most prized possessions. 

Seeing them like this, abandoned, left out to be damaged, rips Jongin’s heart apart as he holds it to his chest. He can’t stop the tears from falling. 

He dutifully collects the box and takes them to the kitchen, setting the stray shoe back in the box, wrapping them properly with the tissue paper, the way Taemin always nagged him to whenever he put them away after competitions. The glue job he does on the ripped side isn’t the best but you have to really look to see the damage there.

He drives to Chanyeol’s, shoe box secured on the passenger seat. He knocks and begs Chanyeol to take the shoes and keep them safe, no explanation given before he rushes back to his car as soon as Chanyeol manages a _sure, but-_ to get home and clean the apartment. Taemin could be home any moment and tripping over and breaking something else is not on Jongin’s list for him.

All he can do is pray Chanyeol keeps the box safe; he knows Taemin will be devastated when he gets over this if the shoes get damaged at all.

* * *

It’s not for another few rounds of sex and months later that Taemin and Jongin are sat outside a theater. They’re about to go head to head against each other, Jongin the pride of Seoul National University’s dance programme and Taemin the joy of Seoul Institute of the Arts dance programme. It’s a rivalry that they’re laughing at, knowing that this could be the dance version of some dumb football rivalry that they _still_ don’t get the hype of - despite Minho and Chanyeol trying and trying to get it into their heads.

They are just the quirky dance kids after all.

They’re calming each other down from nerves, promising that if one beats the other there won’t be any anger - Taemin teases maybe he’ll be a little pissed off but not _angry_ when they fall silent. 

Taemin clears his throat and sighs. “Hey, Jongin?”

Jongin glances up from securing his shoes one more time.”Mm?”

“Do you wanna go out on a date sometime?”

“Huh?”

“I mean like you, me, coffee or the cinema or something.”

“Where’d this come from?”

Taemin seems to lose his confidence a little and rubs at some non-existent mark on his shoe. “I mean… I just thought you know, we get on pretty well, we enjoy each other's company, we’ve fucked like eight times now, and I don’t know. Was just thinking that maybe we’d get on more past friends with benefits, you know?”

Jongin purses his lips. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go on a date.”

Taemin smiles at him. “Don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you in about ten minutes.”

“Pfft, if you did, I’d kick your ass.”

Taemin winks and hops up as a stagehand yells for him. “Bring your A game, Kim.”

“Don’t need to when you’re only on your B game, Lee!”

* * *

Jongin retires from dance early on. The pain in his legs keeps him from dancing to his true potential and as much as he can still dance, not giving his everything in his performances brings him down. He finishes his first year of dance at university and then changes courses; he may not be able to be the performer he wants to but learning how to teach will allow him to help the future performers of the country. That’s more than enough for him. 

Taemin never gives up, and Jongin is in awe of him. No matter how many times Jongin has to personally tend to Taemin’s feet, or massage his back to ease the tension or ask his friends for a small loan so Taemin can have a spa day to recover, he never fails to be amazed. Every performance Taemin does is pure art, a cinematic experience. Every move is a calculated move that just enhances everything, down to the amount of hair spray in his hair, it as much a part of his performance in the way it bounces and is dragged by the momentum of his movements as his arms or legs. 

Taemin slowly becomes a city-wide household name. The more he performs, the more competitions he takes part in - no matter if he doesn’t win - steals the hearts of so many people dotted around South Korea. There’s talk of him joining numerous different dance troupes. His ability to blend into any genre and become one with the music has him sought out en mass - Jongin can barely contain his laughter when South Korea’s country dancing national team tries to court him into joining them.

Taemin spends hours looking over every troupe, studying years of their videos, seeing which one he’d fit best with as he prepares for his dance final - his last year of undergraduate studying. Jongin doesn’t know how he does it, preparing an entire piece, an entire outfit for it, casually flirting ever so slightly with music students to get his own unique piece for his final. He even manages to convince Jinki to provide some vocals for the track.

When Jongin hears the final piece, it chills him to the bone. It’s haunting, melancholic, almost depressive. At the same time it's hopeful, wishing of better days, the hope to move on from a past pain.

Taemin doesn’t let Jongin see him in practice; he swears Jongin will love his piece and he’ll have to wait till his final. The final itself is being broadcast on live television, the best of the entire class of the year being shown across South Korea. 

The entire crew packs into Jongin and Taemin’s tiny apartment, snacks galore as they watch student after student perform. They snort, rating out of ten. It ends in a few arguments between Jongin and Kibum, flicking chips at each other as they debate whether a performance was a five or a seven.

Jonghyun promptly slaps them both round the head with a harsh _shut up_ as Taemin comes on screen, and they all fall silent, eyes glued to the screen. 

Taemin was right; Jongin is hypnotised from the very first step of his performance, moving across the stage as if he’s being controlled by strings that he’s trying to break free from. Turbulent, but concise, fleeting but dragging, pain in the control and hope in the freedom. His silver-blue washed hair glows under the spotlight following him across the stage, adding an extra melancholic feeling to the performance. 

Jongin’s taking in the details of his outfit; it’s a white suit, with golden details. A swirling pattern of flowers and their vines, detailed in yellows and golds cross down Taemin’s chest, giving the ultimate inception that he perhaps is a marionette. It all blends together so perfectly.

Jongin’s about to turn to Kibum and compliment him on the outfit when Taemin suddenly slips. The group collectively gasps as they watch him fall, blinking in shock. They’re sure it must be a part of the performance until he doesn’t get back up, the commentator quickly informing the viewers they’ll be taking an ad break.

* * *

Jongin’s silent as he walks through the grocery store with Kyungsoo. They were trying to hunt down a rarer than some meat for Kyungsoo’s meal that night and he’d begged Jongin to come with him because Jongin said he really needed to get out the house. So now, he was staring into freezers of packaged meat, blinking and pointing.

“Jongin… Jongin, that's turkey, I’m looking for marbled beef.”

Jongin blinks and reads the label again before he nods, laughing. “My bad.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, Soo. I’m just not sleeping much recently.” It isn’t entirely a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth either. It burns Jongin’s throat coming out but he has no intention of saying anything. 

Kyungsoo makes a soft _mhm_ and Jongin feels like he’s suddenly on trial. Kyungsoo has been his best friend since kindergarten; Kyungsoo probably knows him better than Jongin knows himself. 

They head down a different aisle in silence as Kyungsoo peers at different spices before he pushes his glasses up his face. “Is Taemin abusing you?”

Jongin almost slams the cart he’s pushing into a display of fruit. “ _What?_ ”

“Is Taemin abusing you?”

“What the fuck, no.”

“Jongin…” Kyungsoo sighs softly as he deposits a few jars in the trolley. “We’re worried.”

“Who’s _we_?”

“All of us. Minseok, Chanyeol, Baekhyun, Sehun, even Jonghyun asked me about it.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about, Soo.”

“You never come out anymore, you isolate constantly, when you do show up, it’s for something random like please hide this special thing or you’re covered in bruises. You’re barely sleeping, you’re jumpy as hell, we barely hear from you, and when we do you quickly shut off phone calls, normally as Taemin starts yelling. What are we supposed to think? Not to mention the bullshit excuses, you got a black eye because an elevator door closed on you?”

Jongin sags his shoulders, licking his lips. “Look, Taemin isn’t abusing me, I promise you that. It’s just… a really complicated situation I can’t really discuss. I _promise_ you, it’s not what it’s looking like.”

Kyungsoo fixes him with a steady gaze, raising an eyebrow. “We’re worried about you. Talk to us. Let us help you.”

“It’s not that simple.” 

“Alright,” Kyungsoo leads Jongin down to the vegetables and starts checking them for ripeness. “If you ever feel like you need to talk, we’re here, okay?”

“Duly noted.” 

The rest of the shopping trip is silent and Jongin feels his gut churning with every step he takes.

* * *

Jongin runs his fingers over the different compression bandages there are on the pharmacy shelf. There’s a lot more types in the few years since he first injured his leg and he sighs a little. He has no idea which one to buy to relieve the most pain. He’s about to just grab three and see which one works best so he can come back and stock up on a few when he sees the painkillers out the corner of his eye. 

Fucking _painkillers_.

One of the few things that would really help him out right now but simultaneously ruined absolutely fucking everything. The ones that stole his boyfriend from him, the things that have his friends constantly worried and on edge.

He isn’t sure what happened, but the next thing he knows, he’s screaming and being dragged away from the shelf by security, the boxes all over the floor, some stomped on, crushed under feet. He fights for a moment before he goes limp, letting himself be pushed out the store doors and told not to come back.

* * *

Jongin shifts under his friends’ gazes. He’d joined them at a local restaurant for a catch up but he should have known better. They’re all sneaking glances at him, eyeing the patch of make up, covering a bruise on the crook of his neck.

Taemin had a hallucination, losing all sense of reality in the bathroom, and had fought Jongin as he tried to calm him. It wasn’t any big deal; when Taemin had calmed down, he’d whispered hoarse apologies, and Jongin knew Taemin wasn’t attacking _Jongin_ , he was attacking whatever Jongin looked like in Taemin’s head.

But he didn’t need to give any more of his friends reason to worry. He focuses on his fried duck, listening to Minseok recount how _the_ Shim Changmin had come into his cafe the other day. Everyone discusses it for a moment before it goes silent. It’s Junmyeon - Jongin’s friend from his old job - that starts talking.

“Jongin, if you need somewhere… safe to stay, you know you can always come to me.”

Jongin abruptly stands up, chucking some Won on the table. “Listen, I appreciate the concern but it’s not what you’re fucking thinking and I’m getting fucking sick of being stared at like some sideshow freak because of a few bruises. Did any of you consider maybe I could have developed some chronic illness? Hence all the bruising and isolation, Taemin yelling in the background because he’s upset? Why does it always have to be fucking abuse or whatever, jesus fucking _christ_ . Or maybe Taemin is just playing games and losing and screaming about it whilst I’m suffering a depressive breakdown? Or maybe I just don’t want to be around people constantly eyeing me up like I’m some sort of fucking _attraction_.”

He storms off, not even pausing to grab his jacket off the back of his chair.

* * *

“Kyungsoo, are we best friends?” 

Jongin looks across to Kyungsoo’s bed, staring at his roommate as he works on his assignment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know everyone has like that one best friend or platonic soulmate or whatever?

“Yeah?”

“Would you say that’s us?”

“Mm. I think so. I mean, I’d say we’re pretty inseparable. Didn’t you get dumped last year because your boyfriend got sick of how much you spoke about me?”

Jongin snorts. “Yeah, I did.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re best friends.”

* * *

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Jongin stands in his pyjamas on the street outside his apartment building. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol stare at him, worry written across their faces. Jongin is trying to stop the tears flowing down his cheeks, but he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to stop for a while. 

He was on the phone to Chanyeol earlier, listening to his backwards apologies for the fucking _intervention_ he pulled when Taemin had come home. He was strung up, on edge, hallucinating and had started yelling, screaming about something coming for him. Jongin had promptly hung up and immediately rushed to him. He was doing his best to calm him down when there was banging on the door, someone yelling _police_.

Taemin freaked out, scrambling backwards and kicking Jongin in the stomach. He was utterly manic and Jongin didn’t know how to tell Taemin this time the police really _were_ at the door. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn’t know _why_ they’re here but he knows that Taemin will be jailed if they find him this high or even suspect he has drugs on him. His anxiety grows as he realises there’s numerous stashes around the house, in places the police would most definitely search, stereotypes from films and movies. 

Jongin is in the process of getting Taemin up off the floor when he’s yanked backwards. He yells, unsure what’s happening before he notices Kyungsoo lingering in the doorway as police rush past him. 

Kyungsoo, his best friend, that he gave a key to come round and hang out. To come and babble about how much his job sucks or to come round with a surprise new recipe he’d come up with. 

Jongin doesn’t know what to think, what to _do_ until he hears “Lee Taemin, you’re under arrest for suspected abuse.”

Jongin pulls himself free from the officer holding him, screaming bloody murder before he’s pulled back. “Restrain yourself, or I’ll have to do it for you.” 

Jongin stops fighting, watching Taemin, wide-eyed, bewildered, in a moment of clarity being forced out the apartment door. The moment Jongin is let go he rushes forward. He gets to the balcony and stares down before he rushes down. Sprinting down the stairs will beat them if they’re in the elevator. 

They’re on the stairs and Jongin is quick to hop over the banister, rushing down the last flight in front of them as he grabs at the officers. “No, please, this is just some misunderstanding, he’s not abusing me, I swear, let him go.”

“You’ll have to come to the station and make a statement.”

“No, no that’s not how this works, I’m not pressing charges, let him _go_.”

The officers pause for a moment before continuing to push Taemin into the cruiser. “Sir, you need to come to the station tomorrow and make a statement.”

“I’M NOT PRESSING CHARGES.”  
  
“You’ll also need to have a psychological evaluation.”

Jongin freezes. “What?”

“We have reason to believe you may not be in the right state of mind to decide whether you want to press charges or not. Ring us tomorrow, we’ll set it up.”

Jongin stares in shock as they pack up, driving off like nothing just happened. 

“Nini…”

Jongin spins around, staring at Kyungsoo and Chanyeol.

“Give me the fucking key, Kyungsoo.”

“Jongin-”

“-Give me. The fucking. Key. Or you’re going to have to call them back to get me off you as I take it my fucking self.”

Kyungsoo hesitates a moment before he holds it out. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

Chanyeol crosses his arms. “Jongin, you’re a textbook abused and blind case.”

“First of all, that phrasing is fucking ableist, I’m not blind, blind people are blind and they don’t deserve to fucking consistently be referred to as dumb, fucking open Naver for once in your life. Second, Taemin isn’t fucking abusing me, I don’t know how many times I have to fucking _tell_ you. Get the fuck out of my life. Get the fuck away from my apartment building, away from _me_. I don’t want to fucking see you again.” 

He clutches the key in his hand, so hard, he can feel it break his skin. The tears are already flowing, but once he finally gets back inside with the door closed, he lets the tears flow harder and lets out a scream so harsh he’s pretty sure he rips his throat lining.

* * *

Jongin doesn’t know how long it is until he’s finally allowed to see Taemin, but the moment he’s told he can go in, he’s pretty sure there’s a smoke silhouette of where he was standing. He pushes the door open maybe a bit too hard; it slams off the wall and makes Taemin jump in his bed. He smiles weakly when he sees it’s only Jongin and gladly holds his arm out for a hug.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?”

“The dancer performing before me was using water in his performance and they didn’t dry the stage off entirely. I just happened to stand in the one water patch they missed.”

Jongin sighs and gently takes Taemin’s left wrist, wrapped up in a cast and frowns. Taemin smiles. “Just a fracture, hairline. Most people would just get a wrist brace for it but since I’m a dancer they don’t want to take any chances on causing any damage by accident so I’m not allowed to use my left arm at all.”

Jongin’s shoulders finally unhunch and he lets himself relax for the first time since the ad break started. “Okay, that’s not so bad, that’s good, right? No surgery, only takes a few months to heal, it’s not going to hurt your career.”

“As long as I don’t do anything dumb like fall down a flight of stairs and break the cast and my wrist further, I should be fine.”

“Don’t say that, that’s entirely the kind of stupid shit you’d accidentally do.”

Taemin laughs and Jongin sits next to him, letting Taemin cuddle up next to him. He wraps his arm tightly around his shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “What about your final?”

“Well, I should fail since I didn’t complete my entire composition _but_ they’re going to take a look at grading me off what I managed to do. The college will let me know in a few weeks.”

“God, that’s brilliant. And hey, at least I finally win.”

“What do you mean?”

“You finally have to _rest_.”

“Only my wrist is broken, I’ll kick your ass still.”

They burst into laughter before the doctor comes in to say Taemin’s ready to go. Jongin grabs the prescription held out as Taemin puts his jacket on.

* * *

Jongin stares at the psychologist in front of him, sighing heavily. “No, I am not being abused, no I do not have Stockholm Syndrome, the only times Taemin has hurt me have been accidental or he was mid hallucination and I was trying to calm him down and put _myself_ at risk or he saw me as a hallucination. He’s always been guilty and apologetic afterwards, not in a he decks me then tells me he loves me way but in a he literally sobs at the idea he hurt me way.” 

The psychologist nods and leans back. “Does Taemin have mental health problems?”

Jongin shrugs. “It’s not exactly like the mental health service is up to a standard that would allow him to be safe to even look into that, is it?”

She raises her eyebrow but chuckles. “You seem to have a lot of animosity towards psychologists.”

“I have animosity towards this entire situation, that I told my friends countless times they didn’t need to worry, even gave them mass options for what might be going on and they called the fucking cops on my boyfriend, let them _into_ my apartment and had him arrested mid hallucination. I think anyone, sane or not, would be very fucking pissed off in this situation.”

“So what is the situation between you and Taemin?”

“What’s the psych patient confidentiality here?”

“Everything stays between me and you. Even if something is illegal, unless someone is at risk of being murdered, I say nothing.”

“Illegal?”

“Drug use, sex addictions, things like that. I can’t report a rape or abuse on your behalf without your permission, all I could say was… for example if you told me you wanted to stab your friend and there was intent behind it. Or if you told me you had murdered someone. That I am legally required to tell the police but past that, everything else is confidential.”

Jongin picks at his nails. “But you're on the police’s pay, aren’t you?”

“Not quite. I’m an independent therapist which means people pay me directly and I don’t work with anyone or under anyone. The police sometimes hire me to do these but I’m not exactly on their payroll.”

“But at the end of the day, they’re signing your paycheck, and they can withhold that paycheck and try and force information out of you, of which you'd struggle to take to the cops because it's the cops doing the blackmail, right?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, tapping her pen on her clipboard. “I suppose that could happen but I have honestly never heard of it.”

He’s not taking this chance. 

“Just get this evaluation done, dig in my brain, tell me if I have control of my own decisions and let me go.”

* * *

Jongin stares at Kyungsoo, ready to leap across the table and throw a few punches. He might just swing a few times at Jonghyun as well. 

Jonghyun had called him, said he was going to pick up Taemin, that he’d paid his bail and did Jongin want to come with him? Jongin had, of course, said yes, only to find Jonghyun pulling him into Minseok’s closed for the day cafe with all of his and Taemin’s friends dotted around.

Jongin had immediately tried to back out, only to find all of Minho’s six foot self behind him. He was slightly smaller than Jongin, but the muscle and brawl from his lifetime as a football player makes Jongin scowl and take a seat.

“You guys have some fucking nerve with this, telling me you’re getting Taemin out and-”

“-I paid Taemin’s bail this morning. He’s at my apartment.” Jonghyun frowns, leaning against the wall. “But this entire situation is fucked up, and I’d really like to know if I just let an abuser live on my couch.”

Kyungsoo snorts. “Even if he was, it’s not like Jongin’s going to say anything. He threatened to beat the shit out of me for getting him out of the fucking situation.” 

“YOU CALLED THE COPS ON MY BOYFRIEND IN THE MIDDLE OF A HALLUCINATION. Even if he _was_ abusing me, you had no fucking right to call the cops on someone in the middle of a fucking mental _breakdown_ , especially when they get _arrested_ in the middle of that fucking breakdown.”

“Alright, break it the fuck up.” Sehun rolls his eyes. “So what we’ve gathered here is Jongin got a few bruises, he doesn’t talk to people as often, someone had his boyfriend arrested, Jongin didn’t show a hint of gratitude, not even a basic look in his eye?”

“Yes.” 

“Why are we looking at abuse for this? It’s Jongin, he sneezed and fell down two flights of stairs. He wakes up with eight new bruises a day.”

Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon immediately start arguing with Sehun and Jongin pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s getting a headache. 

“ENOUGH.”

The bark from Minho is enough to silence everyone, and Jongin sighs. “I’m not saying shit but Jonghyun, I promise, you are not housing an abuser in your apartment. Can I see him?”

“No.”

Jongin’s head shoots up. 

“Anything that is as severe that you can’t tell us isn’t exactly a nice thing to think about. So what is going on.”

Jongin clenches his fists under the table, letting his forehead smack off it as he leans forward. He grits his teeth. “I can’t tell you.”

“So it’s not abuse but you can’t tell us what the hell is going on, because what? That just sounds like it’s something more dangerous than abuse. Which isn’t winning you anything right now.”

“Or,” Jongdae leans against the bar, pursing his lips. “It’s something that Jongin feels like he can’t trust us with, like something illegal.”

Jongin could kiss Minseok’s boyfriend right now.

“Illegal like what?”

Jonghyun sighs. “Like addiction.”

Jongin freezes for the slightest moment. 

“I had my doubts but I didn’t think… All the signs are there, and Jongin is Jongin, he wouldn’t defend an abuser so much. Well, he would if he was brainwashed enough but after all this by now, he’d have his doubts. He hasn’t doubted Taemin once. In fact, Jongin has consistently put himself in harm's way to try and _protect_ Taemin… Am I right?”

Jongin isn’t aware he’s crying until someone wraps his arm around him and squeezes him. He chokes on his own sobs, so much weight finally lifting off of his shoulders. Someone holds his hand and he grips it.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t know how. And I didn’t want him to suddenly be surrounded by people like that, he feels like he’s been forced into a corner and then he lashes out. It’s how I got my first black eye; he freaked out, got paranoid, lost it for a moment and then went out on a bender for a month. It’s not you guys who have to lie awake at night for a month, wondering if he’s alive, if he’s even fucking okay. It’s me.”

“We’d all be worried about that-”

Jongin shoots upright. “Really? Because last time I checked, he was showing all the basic signs of addiction and you called the fucking _cops_ on him, Chanyeol.”

“I thought you were-”

“-Do you know what’ll happen to him if they find out he’s an addict?”

Chanyeol stares at the table. 

Baekhyun clears his throat. “So what are we looking at? With the cops I mean.”

Jongin sighs. “I don’t know but I know he’ll do time. He’ll lose his position and career as a dancer. The court fees will run us dry, I’ll have to try and find a job that pays for basic rent and a lot more than that because when Taemin comes back out, he’ll be classed as a felon and won’t be able to work anywhere, so I’ll be the sole supporter of the house, whilst he’s still struggling with addiction, received no help whilst he was in there, and he’s likely to not receive help when he gets out because most therapists and such are wary with taking a felon on. So, in layman’s terms, it fucks me and him and potentially worsens the situation with no way to get him help.”

There’s a heavy, uncomfortable silence across the room. 

“I’m sorry-”

“-Shut the fuck up, Kyungsoo.”

It’s Jinki who finally breaks the silent. “Alright, Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, you two need to stop. I’m sure Jongin understands that you were trying to help him, but his animosity and anger and probable trauma from seeing Taemin arrested when he’s so vulnerable comes first in this situation.”

There’s a soft murmuring of agreement. 

“Minho will take Jongin home when we’re done here, he knows how the cops do searches of places, his dad and all. He’ll get everything, even the stuff Jongin doesn’t know about, we’ll stash it elsewhere for now because the cops likely will do a brief search considering the circumstances, especially if Taemin had withdrawals in jail. Taemin will stay with Jonghyun for a while - no complaining, Jongin. You can go see him but you need a break from all this as well. You’re not doing this alone now, we’re here and we’re going to help. You need a good night’s sleep, some rest. Who’s the least connected to Taemin here? As in, if the cops were keeping an eye on Taemin, they wouldn’t see how he interacts with you.”

Minseok clears his throat. “That’d be me and Jongdae. We’ve only seen Taemin once or twice, we couldn’t notice him in a line up or anything.”

Jinki nods. “You two look into drug recovery. Find ways to make sure he can get help and have that option. Forcing him into recovery isn’t what we’re going to do; he has to hit rock bottom and want to recover for himself or he just won’t recover, _but_ at least we’ll have resources to hand the moment he’s ready to.”

Jongdae nods. “We can print some out as well and have them on the cafe noticeboard as well, just in case the cops do investigate us. It won’t be suspicious that way.”

Jinki nods and sighs. Minho steps forward. “Alright. That’s the plan. Chanyeol, Kyungsoo you two stay out of this for now, Jongin you’re not seeing Taemin until the charges have been fully dropped, we don’t need them having any reason to keep an eye on Taemin right now. My dad heads the precinct he was held at, and he knows Taemin is my friend so I’ll try and get a standing on where everything is from him. If not, I know his laptop password.”

Jongin nods, letting out a deep breath. He feels like three hundred pounds just left his shoulders. It feels like the first time he can breathe since… since everything started. He wipes at his eyes, sniffling a little. He doesn’t know how to say _thank you_ , how to show them any form of gratitude. Everything they’re risking… He has no idea. 

“I have just one question.” 

Jongin looks up to find Kibum staring at him. “How did all of this start?”

* * *

Jongin wakes up in the middle of the night. He thinks the clock says it forty minutes past one but he’s too tired to really read it properly. He isn’t sure what really woke him up and he rolls over, disgruntled. He realises the coldness under the blanket is what woke him up as his brain connects the empty space next to him; Taemin must have gotten up. He sits up, rubbing his eye. There’s a faint glow in the doorway, looking like it’s coming from the bathroom and he gets up. He stumbles a little but manages to make his way to the door and look in. He’s just in time to watch Taemin open his prescription painkillers and tap out five into his hand. They’re swallowed before Jongin can do anything and he stumbles forward.

“Tae, what the hell you’re meant to take _two_.”

“They’re not working, it hurts, I checked the overdose online, I can take five in one, relax.”

Jongin isn’t entirely sure what to say in response to that but sighs. “You can’t do that, Tae, you’ll run out when you still need them. You need to take them in the right-”

“-It fucking hurts, god, please.”

Jongin bites his lips but stops fighting, gently leading Taemin back to bed. He kneels down, fiddling with the plugs by the bed until he gets the heating pad connected - he’d found one online that’s meant to heat through casts without damaging the cast and at the moment, it seems to be working. He carefully wraps it around Taemin’s cast and lays back down, wrapping his arm around Taemin’s waist. “It’ll be alright.”

Taemin makes a noise but doesn’t reply. Jongin sits up a little, brushing his hair off his forehead. “Hey, what’s up?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Talk to me, hun, I’m here.”

Taemin stays silent, staring at the wall before he sighs. “I’m a fucking failure.”

“Hey, where did this come from? You’re not a failure, at all.”

“I failed my final.”

“They failed you? It was a freak accident and it’s the theater’s fault not yours, what the fuck, in the morning I’ll ring-”

“-It doesn’t matter.”

Jongin stares at Taemin before taking a breath. “It’ll be alright, Tae-”

“-How the fuck will it be alright? I fucked up my entire career _and_ wrist on national television for fucks sake, how many dance troupes are going to want me now? How the hell am I meant to go on from this?”

“Tae, none of the troupes have pulled their application to you.”

“And how long until they do when they realise I’m null to them because I won’t be around for competitions for nearly seven months? By the time I’m able to dance again, they’ll have found someone else to fill the spot they had for me. It’s _over_.”

“And you’ll come back even stronger and land better contracts. I know you. You _always_ come back stronger every time life kicks you down. You’ll come through this and heck you’ll probably get hired as a dancer by a company, or maybe even a K-Pop company or something. You leak nothing but talent and passion. It’ll be okay.”

Taemin doesn’t reply and Jongin sighs, pressing a kiss to his temple. He sees the glossed over look in Taemin’s eyes and frowns. “Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

Jongin pauses and chooses to lay back down, holding him tightly. “It’ll be okay. I know it. You’re the Lee Taemin, barely twenty-four and with the entire dance world in the palm of his hand. You’ll come through this and be even better when you do.”

Taemin makes a noise that Jongin can’t decipher but he takes it as Taemin doesn’t want to talk. He gently rubs circles into Taemin’s hips, humming softly until he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

“What do you mean I can’t refill the prescription? It’s due today.” Jongin blinks at the pharmacist, staring at the slip in his hand. “Due for refill, September 9th, that’s today. You only opened ten minutes ago and you’re the earliest opening pharmacy, this couldn’t have been filled already.”

“The records are saying this prescription was picked up _twice_ yesterday, from two pharmacies who take until the end of the day to update their systems. One by a Choi Minho and one by a Lee Jinki.”

“Huh.. They must have not told me they picked it up… Alright, thank you.” 

“What’s going on?”

Jongin blinks at the pharmacist. “Sorry?”

“What are you, dealers?”

Jongin chokes. “Excuse me? No, my partner ran out of his painkillers yesterday, he must have told his friends when they came round and they must have picked it up when they went out.”

“Why has Mr. Lee not picked up his own prescriptions? Why are his friends doing it?”

“I don’t know? He’s been in a lot of pain with his wrist and hasn’t been able to shower properly, maybe he’s embarrassed? I’ll ask him when I get back from classes today.” 

“One more discrepancy on this prescription, I’m calling the cops.” 

Jongin holds his hands up, backing away before he heads out. He huffs and pulls his phone out, ringing Jinki as he heads to the bus stop. He bites his lip, almost jumping when Jinki answers.

“Hey, I’m at college today and was hoping to grab Taemin’s prescription and drop it back home, but the records say you picked it up yesterday. Is there any chance you can get it to mine in the next few hours? Taemin won’t be awake for-”

“-What are you talking about, I picked up his prescription. I didn’t collect it.”

Jongin stops in his tracks, frowning. “I just tried to pick it up and the pharmacist wouldn’t give me it because the records say that you and Minho picked it up at different pharmacies.”

“Minho isn’t in Seoul and wasn’t yesterday and won’t be back until next week, he’s at a training camp.”

“What the… Alright uh… could you pick up some of that strong over the counter stuff then and take that round? I don’t wanna go back into that pharmacy.”

“Sure thing, I’ll make sure he eats breakfast too.” 

“Thanks, Jinki.”

Jongin hangs up and stares at the prescription form in his hand, mind whirling. 

The fact that Taemin stares Jongin in the eyes, holding his prescription, and swearing Jinki got it for him should have been the first clue.

* * *

When Taemin’s prescription is cancelled due to so many weird issues with collecting it, Jongin puts his foot down and demands to know where Taemin is still getting so many boxes of codeine. It’s not over the counter, without the prescription, Taemin should have no way to get it.

All he’d said was he had a supplier and he just needed it for a little longer with his wrist. 

That should have been Jongin’s second clue.

* * *

Recounting it now, back to their friends, the five at once, should have been his first clue. 

“From there… I don’t know. He just kept going out later and later at night and then would come up looking like… I don’t know. Then I found his stash. We had a fight, I told him to get help. Then he went off on the bender and came back addicted to more. That month he took for physio when he left Seoul, he was off god knows where doing god knows what.”

Jonghyun looks like he might burst into tears; Jinki and Minho look understandably angry and betrayed. Kibum looks lost. The rest of his friends, most of them not knowing Taemin as much as Taemin’s group, just look uncomfortable.

Jongin wipes his eyes and sighs. “So, we have the plan in place, can I… I just wanna go home.”

Minho steps forward, nodding. “I’ll check the bed and all and then yeah. I’ll check other areas and when you wake up, I’ll check the bedroom.”

Jongin nods and lets himself be led to Minho’s car and lets himself nap on the drive.

* * *

It takes a week until Taemin comes home. Jongin hears a key in the lock and knows Taemin is the only one with a key. He rushes to the front door, and throws his arms around Taemin, squeezing him and choking up. “God, I missed you.”

Taemin sniffs, burying his face in Jongin’s neck. “I missed you too. So much.”

They don’t talk, they don’t move. They stand there, drinking each other in until Taemin shivers from the cold wind. Jongin pulls away, sniffling and kicks the door shut. Taemin drifts through to the living room, dumping the bag he was living out of at Jonghyun’s on the ground. He sits down, staring at the coffee table.

“So, Jonghyun filled me in on everything.”

Jongin makes a noise of acknowledgement, wrapping the couch throw around Taemin’s shoulders. 

“I think… I don’t… I went to jail for abusing you.”

“You weren’t abusing me, Tae.”

“I went to jail for causing you numerous injuries that I wouldn’t have done if I wasn’t high.”

Jongin winces a little but makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Give me the word and I’ll deck Kyungsoo for you-”

“-No. Jongdae and Minseok were looking at drug recovery stuff?”

“Yeah. They have been. Do you want me to call them?”

“How much did I hurt you?”

“Tae?”

“How. Much.”

Jongin doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t know if it’s even _good_ to tell Taemin. He bites his lip. “Thirty-two bruises, two wrist sprains and a broken finger.” 

Taemin physically recoils, holding his head in his hands. “Call Minseok. Please.”

* * *

Taemin doesn’t ask Jongin to take him to his support group. It’s a knife to the gut, but Jongin knows that Taemin needs to do this for himself. He knows that Jongin ferrying him to and fro will only constantly remind Taemin of what he did. 

Everytime he gets home, Jongin makes sure to either pop by between his classes with a coffee from a cafe, or that he’s ready with dinner, lunch, or some snacks, whatever time of day it is. 

When he knows Taemin is bringing home his one month chip, he has Taemin’s friends round for a small takeout and movie night.

* * *

When Taemin comes home, a new green chip on his keyring to symbolise his first two months clean, Jongin couldn’t be prouder. His heart drops, however, when he wakes up in the early hours of the morning. The clock says it's twenty-seven past three in the morning and Taemin isn’t by his side. Slowly, he gets up, heart pounding in his throat. He follows the sound of grunting to the bathroom and peers around the doorframe.

Taemin is sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by boxes of hair bleach and dye. There’s a pack of blond hair extensions, hair all over the floor next to scissors; there’s some that have been dyed green. 

Jongin brings his eyes up to watch Taemin. He’s threading extensions into freshly bleached and dyed green hair. He grunts again, pulling the fake hair from his head and observing one of his bald spots in the mirror before trying again. Jongin smiles and knocks on the door frame. “Need some help?”

“Please.”

Jongin gently kneels behind Taemin, smiling as he runs a brush through Taemin’s damp hair, carefully knotting the extensions. When they’re done, Taemin is as bright as his two month sober chip and his hair is looking better than ever.

* * *

Jongin starts taking Taemin to his meetings when he receives his four month chip. He stays silent in the passenger seat, passing the chip between his fingers. Jongin never pushes any conversation, never puts the radio on; he always lets Taemin know that he’s in control. 

Taemin’s in a better place mentally to accept what he did and for it to not play too deeply in his mind. He said having Jongin there now is a good balance between reminding him of reasons to stay sober and the monster he can be when high, even when just from hallucinations. He always shuts down Jongin’s _but you weren’t abusing me_ , because “but I was. I knew what I was doing on the drugs, even if I wasn’t fully coherent and still took them. Not taking them is a conscious choice to ensure I don’t hurt you. Taking them is a conscious choice to put you at risk.”

Taemin understands it’s a mental health problem but the way he stands strong and refuses to let his behaviour be brushed off by their friends - and Jongin - makes Jongin’s chest swell with pride.

Jongin reaches over to squeeze Taemin’s knee. Taemin’s hand drops and cups Jongin’s, the chip pressed between their hands.

They’re learning and getting there. Together.

* * *

When Taemin hits five months of recovery, all Jongin can do is stand and cry. Everything has been pushed aside in the living room and Taemin is _dancing_. 

It’s the first time Jongin’s seen him dance since his final. 

Jongin heads back to their bedroom; this is likely a personal moment for Taemin and he doesn’t want to intrude. He buries his face in his pillow to muffle his sobs.

Taemin is slowly becoming the man Jongin fell in love with again. 

* * *

Jongin is greeted with the scent of eggs when he wakes up. He heads out to the kitchen, stifling a yawn to watch Taemin pick up an egg. “This is my brain.”

He cracks it and drops it in the frying pan, snorting. “This is my brain on drugs.”

Jongin chuckles and moves forward, wrapping his arms around Taemin. “Happy six months clean, baby.”

* * *

Jongin gets invited to one of the events being run for the support group members. Taemin shyly asks him to come with him, saying that partners and family of addicts are allowed to come. Jongin walks onto the yacht for the party, arm proudly around Taemin’s waist. Taemin perks up as someone immediately comes over.

“Taemin, you came!”

Taemin smiles, one of the first real smiles Jongin has seen in years. “Jongin this is Leeteuk, my sponsor. Leeteuk, Jongin.”

Leeteuk offers his hand and quickly scribbles his number on Jongin’s hand, telling him to ring if he needs to talk before he rushes off to greet some others arriving. 

“So, that’s Leeteuk.”

“He’s great. This is his yacht.”

“What.”

“His boyfriend is _loaded_.”

“Oh?”

Taemin points out a man that Jongin can only think looks _expensive_. “Siwon. Pretty sure Leeteuk is trying to black widow him.” 

Jongin snorts as he heads to the drinks table, gladly accepting a punch from the dry bar.

* * *

Jongin stares at his phone with a raised eyebrow as it rings. Leeteuk is ringing him, but he should be in the middle of a meeting, his phone off, definitely no contact outside of the room. He picks it up and answers.

“Leeteuk?”

“Do you know where Taemin used to go to get high?”

“Wait, what-”

“-Where would he go?”

“I don’t know, he never told me. All I knew about was pill usage here, what’s going on?”

“He just rang me crying and saying he fucked up, saying he felt dizzy and couldn’t stay awake.”

Jongin’s on his feet, grabbing his car keys. Vaguely, he’s aware he just threw a bowl of cereal over the carpet but he rips the apartment door open. “Do you know any hotspots where addicts meet, I don’t know these things.”

“The old abandoned church, I’ll-”

“- _I’ll_ go, don’t put yourself in that situation. I’ll add you to a group chat, it’s all our friends who know about what’s going on, let them know, they’ll start searching. I can’t text when I’m driving.”

Leeteuk barely says okay before Jongin hangs up. He opens the group chat and adds Leeteuk before he drops his phone on the passenger seat. He’s dangerously close to the speed limit, barely a mile under it and he’s pretty sure he skips two red lights and rubs his tyres raw as he screeches to a stop. He pauses a moment only to ensure his car isn’t sticking in the road where someone might crash into it and make it undriveable before he hops out. He grabs his phone, ignoring the constant vibrating and heads to the door. 

It’s locked. 

“Why are you here?”

Jongin turns his head, jumping back slightly as someone sticks their head out the window. “Let me the fuck in right now or I call the cops on this place.”

The head disappears immediately and the door creaks open. Jongin shoves past and rushes in. He looks around and heads straight for the main hall where he assumes services would take place - there’s people in there, he can see them. He grabs someone leaning against the door, and stumbles back. It’s not Taemin and Jongin desperately looks around. 

There’s a group of people milling around one corner, seeming to observe something - or _someone_. Jongin doesn’t care that he’s pretty sure he stood on someone as he rushes over.

“He needs an ambulance.”

“He’s just having a bad high, every recovering idiot does when they come back.”

“He’s frothing at the mouth and seizing… what’s that weird puppet song advert… I don’t remember but it _said_ frothing and seizing is bad and it’s time to call the ambulance.”

Jongin shoves some of them out the way, dropping to his knees. He grips Taemin’s arm, shaking it. “Tae, Tae open your eyes, Tae.”

Taemin doesn’t even seem to hear him. Someone chuckles in the background. Anger burns through Jongin and he tilts his head slightly. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to lift him up and take him out to my car. If that door isn’t open wide enough by the time I get there, one of my close friends’ father is the head of this precinct’s police department.” 

He doesn’t care how fucking violent he sounds. All he cares about is how Taemin looks so frail in his arms, how he keeps spasming against Jongin’s chest. 

Someone rushes out and opens Jongin’s car door for him, and he’s grateful that even if it’s in the act of self-preservation, someone gives a shit. He carefully sets Taemin down in the passenger seat before sprint round to the driver’s seat. He jabs at his phone as he squeals from the curb, heart in his mouth. There’s a pause before a few voices from the group chat start speaking at once.

“He’s not at any hospital-”

“-I’ve got him, he’s having an overdose, I’m on my way to Severance Hospital, it’s the closest place.”

Jongin grits his teeth as he hears sirens behind him. He must have gone past a speeding check. “Whoever knows my license plate number can they get Minho to call his dad and get his troopers off my back, I can’t stop.”

“On it, see you there.”

Jongin glances between the road and the trooper behind him, gritting his teeth. He slows down enough to take a corner without losing control before he speeds up slightly again. “Minho, come on, the _one_ time we don’t hate your dad.”

In his rear view mirror, he sees the trooper lift his radio before he puts it back. He speeds up, over taking Jongin before matching his speed and Jongin could cry. “Tae, come on, just hold on, we’re almost there, okay, just hold on.”

The cop leads him into the ambulance bay, where there’s already a trauma team waiting. Jongin has barely come to a stop when they pull his door open and Taemin’s gone before Jongin can even get his door open.

By the time he gets inside, Taemin’s disappeared through the _Staff Only_ doors and Jongin sinks into a seat. He’s not aware of how much he’s shaking, until he sees his hands. They’re blurring in his vision and it takes Jongin a moment to process there are tears falling down his cheeks.

He takes a breath, as deep as he can muster, but that makes it so much worse. He screams into his hands, struggling to pull breaths in. Arms wrap around him and he’s vaguely aware of Sehun’s voice, he thinks Jonghyun is there too but he doesn’t know. Minho is arguing somewhere, that Taemin can’t be arrested when he comes out of the trauma room, how the hell are they going to arrest someone for just having a mental health problem and wait till his father fucking hears about this. 

All Jongin can do is lean into one of the chests of his friends. 

Did he get Taemin here in time? Why the fuck didn’t anyone there call for an ambulance, don’t they all know the fucking signs of an overdose of the shit they push into their veins? Anger grips every part of his body but it quickly passes again for another wail as someone rubs his back. Why didn’t he check Taemin went into the meeting? Why didn’t he fucking sit outside playing a game on his phone? Why didn’t Leeteuk let him know Taemin didn’t show? Why didn’t _anyone_ let him know Taemin didn’t show? Why didn’t-

“Jongin, Jongin, you need to stop screaming.” It’s Jonghyun, knelt in front of him, squeezing his knee. “Come on, let's go get a drink and some fresh air.” Jongin hadn’t even realised he was screaming. 

He lets himself be led to some twenty four hour shop in the waiting room. A drink gets pushed into his hand before two pairs of hands lead him outside. The cold air is a shock to his system, giving him a chance to properly take a breath.

He goes over the options of what’s about to happen.

Either he didn’t get Taemin here quick enough and he’s going to… Jongin cuts himself off and takes another shaking breath. If Taemin comes out of the emergency bay, then there’s a very good chance he’s going to be arrested for taking Class A drugs and maybe Jongin might for the multitude of traffic laws he just broke. He doesn’t know how well _I was trying to save my drug addict boyfriend’s life_ will go down in court. 

He crumples, his legs folding under him. He leans against the hospital wall and stares at the sky, burning bright red as the sun goes down. 

He and Taemin had been the perfect couple since they were nineteen, but he guesses that’s the harsh truth of life. 

There never are any happy endings, are there?

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst we're here, let's debunk some stuff about drug addiction
> 
> \- Weed is _not always_ safe. Weed can lead to dependency, or weed laced with other drugs can cause full on addiction. Be mindful of how you're selling for fun weed usage and be aware that some people will be lead to addiction from it  
> \- No, it's not a cliche. You can't help an addict who doesn't want help. An addict has to quit for themselves. Quitting for others can make the recovery process even more traumatic (imagine seeing the person closest to you resigning themselves to finding you dead one morning. Then imagine the pressure that adds. Then remember that pressure like that furthers the grasp addiction has on you to get rid of the emotions you're feeling.)  
> \- Recovery is traumatic as all hell (seeing fellow recovering addicts die one by one, coming to terms with the abuse you caused whilst high, often having to move completely out of where you were, and many other ways). It's not just about going to a group and talking here and there, it's years of work on yourself and it's a battle that literally doesn't end until you're dead whether you're using or not.  
> \- You're never too young to be an addict. I know a thirteen year old struggling with addiction; there is no age limit.  
> \- There is no right or wrong way to be an addict and it isn't just hard drugs.  
> \- Drug _usage_ is a choice, drug _addiction_ is not.  
> \- Support groups aren't about religion and your higher power/etc does not have to be some religious figure. Some support groups will focus on religion, or have a religious base, and some aren't connected to religion at all.  
> \- People can relapse, realise, and immediately get back into recovery. People can relapse and go right back to where they were before they started getting clean. There is no set form for relapse/recovery and not all addicts act the same with relapse & recovery  
> \- Addicts aren't bad people trying to be "good". We're people who are sick trying to get better.  
> \- Natural drugs are not safer than synthetic ones, and prescriptions can be addictive.  
> 


End file.
